We miss you all and hope you are well.

Hopefully Elsa’s birthday was a grand event. Happiest of days!

With love,

Rose and Tony

ON THE LAST DAY of May, Elsa herded her children off to school and remained behind. Just this once, she was not looking for work. She had something else to do.

Without a husband to help out, Elsa felt the heavy burden of both working and caring for the children. So many chores and too few hours in which to do them. It was no surprise there were few single women out here. Loreda did more than her share; heck, these days everyone in the camp did more than their share of everything. Even Ant pulled his weight without complaint. He was responsible for making sure there was always plenty of firewood, kindling, and paper. He spent a lot of time rummaging through the camp and along the main road for whatever he could find; he also brought newspapers home from school. Yesterday he’d found a broken apple crate—a treasure.

It took Elsa two hours to carry enough water back to wash all of their clothes. By the time she boiled and strained the water and poured it into the copper tub they’d brought with them from Texas, she was sweating and exhausted. Once the clothes were washed, she hung them from the interior metal tent frame. They would take longer to dry inside, but at least they wouldn’t be stolen. Then she put some lentils on to soak.

When those chores were done, she dragged the copper tub into the tent and then started hauling water again. Bucketful after bucketful; she hauled it from the ditch, boiled it and strained it and poured it into the tub.

Finally, she tied the tent flaps shut and disrobed—a thing she hadn’t done in weeks. In the past month, they had learned, all of them, how to survive in these terrible conditions, packed in like prisoners. Baths had become luxuries rather than necessities.

She stepped into the tub and crouched down. The water was lukewarm, but still it felt heavenly. Using their last scrap of soap, she washed her body and her hair, trying not to care that in places she felt only her scalp.

Shivering as the water chilled around her, she stepped out and dried off, saving the water in the tub for the kids to bathe in. Heat radiated down from the canvas and up through the dirt floor as she brushed her thinning blond hair. There was no mirror in which to check her appearance, but she didn’t want one. She covered her head with her cleanest kerchief, wishing that, today of all days, she still owned a hat.

The women would all be wearing hats.

Don’t think about them. Or yourself.

This was for her children.

She unpacked her best dress.

Best dress. Made last year from scraps of pillowcase lace and flour sacks. The last time she’d worn it had been to church in Lonesome Tree.

Don’t think about that.

She dressed carefully, pulling up her sagging cotton stockings and stepping into worn-down shoes. Then she stepped out of the tent and into the blazing afternoon sun.

Jean stood outside her own tent, holding a broom.

Elsa waved and walked over.

“I think you’re lookin’ for trouble,” Jean said, looking worried.

“If I am, it’s about time.”

“I’ll be here waitin’ when you get back,” Jean said.

Nadine walked over to join them. “She’s really going?” she said to Jean.

Jean nodded. “She’s going.”

“Well, doll,” Nadine said, “I wish I had your pluck.”

Elsa was grateful for the support.

She walked out of camp. On the main road, the few automobiles that passed her honked for her to get off to the side. By the time she reached the school, she was covered in fine red dust.

She brushed as much of the dirt off of her as she could. She would not be a coward. Chin up, she crossed the lawn and bypassed the office and walked toward the library.

There was a sign on the door for the after-school PTA meeting.

She opened the door just as the school bell rang and children ran out into the hallway.

In the library, books lined every wall; there was a checkout desk, and bright overhead lights. A dozen or so women stood clustered together, sipping coffee from china cups. Elsa noticed how well they were dressed—silk stockings, fashionable dresses, matching handbags. Hair cut and styled. At one side of the room, a long table, draped in white, held trays of cookies and sandwiches and a silver coffee urn.

The women turned to stare at Elsa. Their conversations stalled and then stopped altogether.

Elsa wondered how it was she’d thought a clean flour-sack dress or a bath would help. She didn’t belong here. How could she have thought otherwise?

No. This is America. I’m a mother. I’m here for my kids.

She took a step forward.

Eyes on her. Frowns.

At the clothed table, she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sandwich. Her hand was shaking as she lifted it to her lips.

An older woman, in a tailored tweed skirt suit and heels, with tightly curled hair that peeked out beneath a beribboned felt hat, peeled away from the cluster of women and walked resolutely toward Elsa. As she neared, she raised one eyebrow. “I’m Martha Watson, president of the PTA. You’re lost, I presume.”

“I’m here for the PTA meeting. My children are in school here and I’m interested in the curriculum.”

“People like you don’t influence our curriculum. What you do is bring disease and trouble to our schools.”